


Tea With a Tyrant

by InfernalPume



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:21:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfernalPume/pseuds/InfernalPume
Summary: Oivan finds his library has been transformed into a social parlour.





	Tea With a Tyrant

“I must say,” Oivan said, “This is quite irregular.”

 

The Nightmare King, sitting with his cloak of horrors draped awkwardly over a wooden chair muffling its screams of the abyss; looked down at the crudely painted porcelain teacup’s sloppy heart patterns, then back up to his host.    


“Quite.”

 

Oivan took a deep breath, as always distressed to be parted from his beloved reading. As of late a certain annoyance had deemed it necessary to read more diligently to ignore its ramifications. Meeting with a godly entity he had presumed to be dead was hardly the distraction he wanted. It didn’t help the demon had similar dark curls to the annoyance, striking the same cloudy silhouette though he was male. But unlike the entities that visited the library for dark secrets in the past, this one had asked for him specifically.

 

Maybe the annoyance had worn Oivan down, maybe reading hadn’t proved to be a suitable buffer from isolation as it once had, but Oivan had agreed. And now here they were, The Nightmare King Scourge of the Dreamlands, and a bibliophilic hermit. Taking tea, for all the world as if nothing was strange.

 

Clearing his throat, as the Nightmare King had made no further comment on his observation, Oivan set down his own teacup.

 

“My apologies for the porcelains,” He said, “I only have what I could find. I didn’t think a meeting like this one would be in my future when I planned my residency here.”

 

This seemed to come as a surprise to the Nightmare King, an almost relatable expression crossed his features, he put down his own cup to lean forward.

 

“Your residency? The scriptures defined you as eternal, an avatar of the library going as far back as the Magical High Commission.”

 

Oivan stiffened at this, he hadn’t known his position here had leaked to the waking dimensions. Some time ago his ego might have been stroked at such a description, but in light of a certain annoyance he could only scowl at being reminded of another conversation he had suffered not too long ago.

 

“The Magical High Commission knows very little of magic, ironically,” Oivan said, waving a palm, “They came here only to learn what they needed, and left the barest minimum of what they found. Anything they have to say about the Dreamlands must be taken with a grain of salt.”

 

The Nightmare King looked at Oivan differently now, is if wondering how to see him. No doubt he had some silly belief Oivan resembled a pubescent demon only because he himself was a pubescent demon when he had died, and had trouble seeing the world in any other context. Irritably, Oivan wondered if this meant he had to explain the differences between timelines in a dimension with no particular use for time.

 

“But regardless,” Oivan said, tired of the subject, “Why have you come here? Of all your compatriots, none of them ever saw fit to come back.”

 

Something angry flashed in the demon’s eyes, as if he was holding back the urge to strike.

 

“They are _not,_ ” he growled, “My compatriots.”

 

Oivan sniffed. Another annoying coincidence.

 

“Whatever they are,” Oivan said, then added after some thought, “Or _were,_ no one ever comes back to this library after they’ve found what they’ve wanted. And now you say you wish to speak to _me?_ I should be the one interested in you, how are you still alive?”

 

The look on the demon’s face made Oivan reconsider his wording.

 

“…Rather than being sent to the afterlife, that is.” Oivan kept his voice steady, didn’t disclose that he had a few theories as to the answer.

 

The Nightmare King sat back in his chair, “Why would that matter to you?  You never leave this island- surely there are bound to be truths about this place you don’t know about. Especially now you tell me you’re not even a native!”

 

Something about that irked Oivan, perhaps something to do with the fact this demon who is also not a native has crowned himself a monarch, but like his suspicious Oivan kept it to himself.

 

“I don’t have any moral concerns, if that is the reason for your hostility. I don’t consider myself much of a vigilante, even for the Library’s sake. If, for instance, a book is missing,” Oivan purposely avoided the word _stolen,_ “…the Dreamlands would doubtless bring it back here of its own volition. The Dreamlands are, as you presumed me to be, eternal. They will not be touched, corrupted, or changed. I came here to study, to read in a static environment. Understanding any and all changes within the Dreamlands serves two purposes, firstly as a subject of curiosity, and secondarily to ensure I can avoid distraction to my research.”

 

At this last bit Oivan glared, making his less-then-subtle irritation clear. The Nightmare King did not care for this.

 

“I have been _lenient_ with you,” he said, “You are able to have your ‘static environment’ because I _allow_ it. Do not mistake my kindness for leverage over my rule. You are a resident of the Dreamlands, barely that, an _immigrant._ I am its King. Anything I want of you is your priority. Any of your other exploits are distractions.”

 

Oivan looked at him as if not entirely sure he was serious. Once again he was reminded of an annoyance, though even in the depths of mania that annoyance hadn’t gone so far as to threaten him. But this had answered Oivan’s question, more or less.

 

“I see,” Oivan said icily, “And what _do_ you want of me?”

 

The Nightmare King settled, satisfied by Oivan’s compliance. He would have enjoyed it more if Oivan had shown fear, but begrudging acceptance had its own catharsis apparently.

 

“Simply to check in on the library,” he said, “I want to be aware of every aspect of my kingdom, and the library is the most valuable asset to the waking world. I have no doubt that our enemies will try to invade as they have done in the past. Stealing our knowledge, using our world’s magic against us. Surely you’ve noticed them before.”

 

“Yes,” Oivan said slowly, “It is rather bothersome, I believe I’ve made that clear.”

 

“Bothersome!” The Nightmare King exclaimed, “You realize how the waking world has been _shaped_ by this library? Entire civilizations born and killed by the secrets hidden here! And what do they give us? Whispers in dark alleyways, rumors passed off as old stories. No compensation, no _gratitude_ , each selfish patron content to keep the truth of this place from as many people as they can!”

 

“This isn’t a bookstore, I don’t sell the books, I merely read them.” Oivan said.

 

A cruel smile curled the Nightmare King’s lips. “Yes, but what would you do if you _couldn’t?_ If the distractions came in the form of armies determined to destroy any information that could overpower them?”

 

“I doubt an entire army would march on a rumor whispered in a dark alleyway.”

 

“But times are _changing,_ ” He continued, “You yourself didn’t notice the Dreamlands had a king! You’ve been tolerant of your visitors in the past and its never come back to haunt you, but there will always be more wanting to poison our world, taking our valuable assets to wage their petty squabbles. Why should we be compliant? Why even allow dreamers to come and go as they please? We have something precious here, and for eons the waking world has used us as a commodity. I think making a stance is justified.”

 

Oivan studied him and saw that the Nightmare King was a villain common in stories but rare in practice. Many who do wrong do so in favor of what they believe to be right. Be it personal gain or to a larger end, they never see their actions as benevolent, but rather justified. But looking at the passion in the Nightmare King’s eyes, it was plain to see he actually believed everything he was saying. This wasn’t a gambit, it was a manipulation yes, but not a play on Oivan’s sensibilities. There was a pattern for these things.

 

Whoever the Nightmare King had been in his past life, he was someone with a powerful sense of justice mangled by an inability to understand another’s point of view. This bred confusion, and confusion bred violence. Violence does not beg sympathy, and the lack of sympathy marked any who might have helped him as enemies. Any bones he was thrown he held fast to, and at the threat of losing them, he would rage. His rage fed his will, a will unconcerned with reason, a will that allowed him to catch in the Dreamlands after his death.   

 

And then he was the Nightmare King, which was to say, completely insane.

 

It was almost tragic, in a solely objective sense. Oivan couldn’t help but wonder what brought the young demon, no older then himself really, to this place as he was now. Likely the same isolation and anger that had brought Oivan here. They were almost the same, two slighted young men escaping to another world where they could imagine superiority without being compromised by a populous they had no care to understand. In a way they had both taken revenge, Oivan with aloof solitude and the Nightmare King defensive violence. It was not too far of a diversion, if one stopped to think about it. So, with reason and superiority exhausted, Oivan was left with only one more option. A lesson he never had thought would apply to any scenario he would ever face.

 

It was time to treat another person in a manner that he, _very secretly,_ wished to be treated.

 

“I understand.”

 

Something in The Nightmare King’s face twitched. Anger flared up in Oivan’s chest that he had found some way to be offended, before forcing himself to empathize once again. Why would _Oivan_ be irritated if someone claimed to understand him?

 

It wasn’t enough to agree, anyone could smile and nod, it wasn’t believable if it was exactly what he wanted to hear.

 

“Which isn’t to say I _comply,_ ” Oivan continued, allowing his discomfort to show more then he actually felt it, “I believe there are _numerous_ flaws to this plan of yours.”

 

“Such as?” The Nightmare King said, his voice soft and dangerous.

 

“It is paradoxical,” Oivan said, “You want to defend us against an attacker who would not be hostile with us unless we goaded them into attack, which demanding payment for our services would certainly accomplish. I don’t see why we can’t just let them take what they want.”

 

As expected, the Nightmare King smirked.

 

“I don’t know what the Underworld was like then you grew up there,” he said, “But when I left, demons had a thing called _pride._ ”

 

He stopped then, making a point of letting the word sting. Oivan kept his face smooth, but allowed his ears to twitch.

 

“You’ve spent so long locked up here pouring over knowledge, honing your intellect, growing as a powerful demon and mage, and yet anyone who wants to can be given the same information? You’ve said you don’t own these books, but you _should,_ no one else cares for them as much as you do. All the times I’ve come here you’ve always had your head bowed, and have just been compliant in allowing people to come and go as you please. All I want of you is to be more possessive of this place, this place you’ve lovingly dedicated your life to, this place that is your _home._ Don’t allow strangers to enter, I will give you the means to keep them away. For so long you’ve been subjected to invaders but now I’m _giving_ you a way to keep your home safe.”

 

His final words dripped with honey, “I want to help you, I want to help you read _forever._ ”

 

Oivan was silent, making a show of considering, before looking to the Nightmare King again.

 

“What are your terms? I won’t agree to anything unless we have an _understanding._ ”

 

In the mind of the Nightmare King, this battle of ideology was already won, and it showed on his face.

 

“Naturally,” He said, “You seemed like the reasonable sort from the moment I saw you. My terms are thus. I will grant you and your Library protection, keeping any outsiders from entrance. In exchange, you will aid me as I see fit when I see fit at any given time. The only people who will disturb you are myself and my allies, and you will let me know every time someone tries to get in. If they are not a known ally of mine, you will refuse them and send them to my castle immediately A standard agreement between sovereign and subject.”

 

“Minus the taxes.”

 

“Don’t be cute.”

 

Oivan sat back, “Now, if we are finished-”

 

“No, I need you to promise,” The Nightmare Kind said, “Specifically to that last part.”

 

Oivan frowned at the self-proclaimed sovereign saying ‘promise’ and briefly wondered if it would be appropriate to offer his little finger.

 

“About you being a sovereign?”

 

“No,” He said patiently, “About trespassers. Be they living, dead, or something in between. If you see one, you will bring them to me. If they try to coerce you, you will silence them by force if necessary. Anything they try to give you I want you to destroy. Any words they say are to be treated as _lies._ Promise me.”

 

Oivan studied the Nightmare King’s face, and realized this was the true reason behind his visit.

 

“I promise, then,” Oivan said.

 

  
“You promise, _sire,_ ” The Nightmare King corrected.

 

Oivan shot him a dirty glare, which he received with a self-satisfied smirk.

 

“You have my word, sire.”

 

Satisfied, the Nightmare King rose, Oivan flinched as his cloak howled and moaned.

 

“I’ll keep in touch,” he said in a voice that made it clear Oivan shouldn’t hold his breath. Oivan was hardly more than a gatekeeper to whatever conflict The Nightmare King had woven.  They wouldn’t converse again.

 

And then he was gone, his teacup still full, he had ignored the little ghost’s pastries, which Oivan had brought for the occasion.

 

He never understood why, in the face of a violent entity in possession of a devastating weapon, the heroes insisted upon standing their ground. It seemed like such a suicidal decision to make in the hopes of protecting nothing more than an imagined concept of vanity.

 

Surely it was so much easier to _lie._

 


End file.
